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+---- Thread: Secret Woodlands you shouldn't speak ill of the dead (/showthread.php?tid=11247)
you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Belladonna - Dec 05, 2015
First round or two with myself. I didn't want to make it read-only in case anyone would like to post with both of them. Set in Bella and Duck's mini-temp-den placed very close to the main den, in the early morning, so maybe they could meet others waking up?
Did you just talk back to me, you dumb bitch?
Belladonna woke with a start. The air was brisk and still, tinted very faintly white. Somewhere in the woodland an animal had made a single piercing cry, the sound still ringing in her ears. That hadn't been what woke her, though. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, her mind still catching up from the abrupt transition to consciousness, she found herself staring into that misty world out of their small, crude den entrance, and the world seemed so quiet in the aftermath of the shriek. In the aftermath of...
Yeah. Yeah, that's what I thought.
She shook her head, but there were cobwebs she couldn't dislodge, dusty compartments which wouldn't vanish no matter how hard she ignored them. Faces were swimming in front of her eyes which she hadn't seen - or thought about - in nearly a year. Faces of friends, of enemies, of those who had pledged allegiance and those who had sent threats. All lost to her now, lost like the sycamore tree they had dug their den under, like the blue-tinted pebbles which lined the eastern shore of the vast Crystherium Lake, like the bright-bellied fish which had inhabited it and which had sustained them all. Like the view of the far-off canyon she had always promised herself she would visit, just like the entrance to that cave in which they had found another hidden passage inside - but she had never found out how deep it went. She would never know now. It was all lost, just like she had thought this land was lost to her, but leaving Lacerta was different to leaving Relic Lore. She'd left her birthplace a sad and lonely child, but she'd fled her children's birthplace the wife to a war criminal.
Taking a deep, even breath, the faces fading from view, the chocolate-coated mother worked once more to distance herself from it all, to remember that it was done and gone and in the past. She could feel the warmth of her son's body beside her, his survival and safety a testament to that. But then she realised that his breathing was not the long, slow pattern of sleep, and her eyes snapped from the faraway world to his face, and found his grey eyes staring back, glistening with sympathy.
RE: you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Duckweed - Dec 05, 2015
To her credit, the number of nights which Bella had let Duck sleep on his own, or without her, since his birth were exceptionally few. Sleeping had never been a source of comfort for the boy whose dreams were usually as fraught and miserable as his waking life, but there was always that singular moment of relief when he would jolt awake and his first inhale would bring with it her earthy scent. You're safe, it said, so long as I'm here. That's what it wanted to say, anyway - what it desperately tried to convince him, but Duckweed had quickly learned that the message was idealistic. It had never really mattered if she was there or not. Her presence only ensured that he wouldn't come to any physical harm, but it wasn't really his body which was broken. It was still possible to pull faces and mouth silent words behind her back. It was still possible to get the point across, loud and clear.
And it wasn't even those which tended to hurt the most. It was the feeling of being invisible which always tore him right down to his smallest parts, the fact that the eyes would gloss over him as though Duckweed were no more of note than the grass he stood upon - than the weeds he was named for. At least when he was being tormented, it was validation that he was real. It broke his spirit in all the usual ways, but at least he had a spirit for them to target. Bella's warmth and love was only a half of the whole. Try as she might, she could never overflow her cup enough to spill into the other.
Duck had always been jealous of them, of the attention they received, of the encouragement and teaching and approval. All he got was pandering and soft reassurances that he was just as special, but it never meant a whole lot coming from one person. A person either learned to accept it, though, or go mad, and Duck hoped that he'd made the right choice in choosing sanity. It just came hand in hand with a lot of personal garbage.
So used to his own woes, the young Calor usually found himself surprised at reminders that, sometimes, others had it rough too. And as he'd grown up, certain memories occasionally cropping up for one reason or another, he could regard them with an older perspective and had quietly come to a few painful realisations. It didn't excuse anything, didn't make anything okay, but it did help to explain them.
Duck rarely slept without Bella nearby. When nightmares disrupted them, it was usually because of him. Over the months, they had developed an entire routine which helped ease him back to sleep quickly. He was so accustomed to the fear of them that he was almost growing desensitised. It wasn't him this morning, though. Curled up right next to her, Bella's sudden, pained cry had woken Duck instantly, his heart pounding, but then he realised that she had woken herself up too, and the look on her face was familiar and painful to see.
After a few, long moments, she turned to look at him, wide-eyed, and the boy reached forward to gently touch her nose with his own, his voice soft.
"It's okay. I dream about him too."
Re: - Spirit of Wildwood - Dec 05, 2015
A young deer has been separated from the rest of its herd. Hunt Opportunity
RE: you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Belladonna - Dec 05, 2015
That her mind must have been written so clearly on her face... as his cool nose pressed against hers, Bella wanted to weep. Instantly she pushed forward, needing to embrace him, burying her muzzle in the wiry fur of his neck, reaching with her forearms to gather him closer and hold on tight. That he knew so accurately what was stuck like a splinter in her heart, the sickness she was constantly fighting, constantly hiding - that he knew its root - that he must surely feel it too -
How was it possible to fail so much? All those faces, all those lost promises, all that potential - she'd failed. She'd failed it all. She'd approached it with a wide open heart and dreams for miles, but with a sickness at her side, and she'd allowed herself to be blind to it, to make excuses for it, to pretend that honeyed milk and a spoon full of sugar was enough to heal what it touched, what it would slowly destroy. And then it had touched her.
She'd allowed the sickness to duplicate itself, to give itself more hosts to feed upon, and all the honey and sugar in the world couldn't protect them. She had loved and cherished them, seen them as more than symptoms of a larger problem, tried to convince herself that they would one day break free of it. She was used to the poison by then, had built up a tolerance, could stomach it in larger and larger doses, and hoped that, by swallowing most of it, they would be kept out of harm's way. Her insides were surely a twisted mess by now, scarred beyond repair or recognition. It was a miracle that she still functioned like some kind of normal creature. But if she had succumbed to it, who would have protected the rest? It was her fault, she had let them become exposed to it. The least she could do was absorb as much as possible.
But she had failed. The evidence for that was numerous, but it also lay before her, a warm, innocent body corrupted despite all of her effort. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his pelt, her voice thick and threatening to break. "I'm so, so sorry."
RE: you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Duckweed - Dec 05, 2015
now officially AW in case anyone wants to join :]
They were going off script, there was no routine for this. Duck accepted his mother's crushing embrace with a quiet 'oof' as her enthusiasm squeezed a little out of his lungs, but then he wasn't sure where he ended and she began and it was kinda nice to just get lost in her presence like that. Eyes shut, he pressed back against her, for he knew that the touch of someone who loved him always made him feel safer, so maybe it would work for her. The look in her eyes had been all the confirmation he needed that he'd been right.
Softly he hushed her, even though he felt incredibly awkward doing so. Duck was pretty sure he'd never had to comfort a thing in his life, and this was way too heavy but he couldn't just not be here if she needed him. She needed him. Her apologies were unnecessary, and he wasn't entirely sure what they were intended for anyway; the boy's perceived slights against his person were legion, and though he harboured resentment towards her for many things, Duckweed resented most living beings for one reason or another. It wasn't her fault she was weak. Duck had to have gotten it from somewhere, after all.
"Come on, let's get up," he said, trying to be soothing and reassuring and all those things she was very good at. If she burst into tears he had absolutely no idea what he would do. How do you help fight off bad memories? This was going to quickly approach a situation it was well above his pay grade to fix. "We're gonna go check the borders today, remember? You said we should get up early so we can go practice and get familiar with the land s'more."
Something about his attempt must have worked, for after a long moment (during which he silently pleaded with her not to cry) she pulled back, looked at him seriously for a moment, and then nodded.
"Great," he breathed, almost tumbling over himself in his elation that there was a crisis averted (and that he'd managed to help calm her down, of course). "Let'sgetgoing!" Tugging gently on her ear for encouragement, Duck scrambled out of the den, followed soon after - and with much more grace - by his mother. It was a cold, crisp morning, and his eyes automatically slid to the entrance of the other den, the one which probably had other sleepers inside. He had somewhat bigger things on his mind right then to worry about that, though. Turning to look at Bella, Duck's thin tail wagged once, a fairly uncharacteristically enthusiastic smile on his face. "Ready...?"
RE: you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Miccah - Dec 14, 2015
/throwsawkwardMiccahin
[dohtml]
Miccah brushed a tender kiss upon @Aideen's sleeping form as he stood. They had moved from their private home to the communal den, and though it was taking Miccah a little time to adjust to be amongst others again, the antisocial man knew it was necessary and it was what Aideen wanted. He would do anything for her. As the large man shook out his fur, he silently began to head towards the exit of the den to head to the borders, as was his usual routine. The sound of a strange voice immediately made his ears prick attentively and the leader pawed out of the den to witness an unfamiliar sight. He had the seen the chocolate woman and the young man out and about the territory, but had never made the effort to get acquainted. He left the socializing and pleasantries to his wife. But as the alpha of the thickets, no matter how temporary the position was, Miccah knew he had to push through his discomfort and come to truly know his pack mates - new and old. So he moved towards the pair, his tense form relaxing slightly. Chuffing softly to get their attention, the man had stayed far enough away to not crowd them, but still close enough for pleasant conversation. "Not many are awake at this hour," he stated in his soft baritone. If the black guardian didn't hold such a strong hold on his emotions and physical reactions, he would have flinched. Clearly, his conversational skills needed work. Though, it was true. It was early morning, and the sun had barely risen in the sky. The alpha was used to being awake at this hour, for his body had long adjusted to being awake at odd hours. "speech" |
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Burtn @DA & Dawnthieves.de - Table by PuppyThief |
RE: you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Belladonna - Dec 14, 2015
Hey awesome, thanks for joining :D Anyone else, feel free to wake up your wolves too and hop in whenever <3
Duck's enthusiasm was just thinly veiled nerves, she knew, for her precious child could barely cope with his own strong emotions without knowing how to deal with someone else's. But it was the fact that, despite that, he tried anyway - it warmed her, gave her hope, made her surge with love. It had been the right thing to do, she knew. All of it; coming here, letting his siblings go their own path, abandoning his birth home. Duck had been born contaminated, but perhaps, if she worked hard enough, built a quarantine zone strict enough, she could suffocate whatever parts of his father lived inside of the frail pale boy. For both their sakes.
"Sure, my sweet," she'd cooed, reaching down to nudge his cheek with her nose, when the soft call brought her head up and ears forward to locate its source. There stood the dark wolf who, as far as she understood it, was leading in Mirren's place. The things which troubled Mirren were less of a mystery now than they had been when she joined, for upon meeting Ash's sister, @Nina, the regal female lead had hinted at enough. Nina had been brief on the matter of Mirren's daughter and the absent mother, and Bella, suddenly realising that she was probably discovering at the very thing which had led Mirren to her that night, full of darkness and sorrow, had been incredibly careful not to pry. It wasn't her business.
So it hadn't been entirely a surprise when news of Mirren's absence had come, that he was taking time to himself outside of the territory. It must have been related in some way, and so, once again, Bella had pointedly not asked any questions. Whatever he needed to do for his own health of mind, he should do.
"Miccah," Bella greeted, testing the name on her tongue (for she was pretty sure that was right, but they hadn't really properly met yet), her tail wagging once in pleasure before dipping down out of respect. Smiling at his remark, and not finding anything awkward about it at all, she said: "A good opportunity to get some work done, then. We will do the morning's rounds if you wish to rest some more." It wasn't meant dismissively, only a genuine offer if he wanted to slip back inside the warm den to wait for the early morning chill to pass.
RE: you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Duckweed - Dec 14, 2015
He still sometimes forgot that they weren't always alone. In a state of relative comfort when around his mother, Duck's first instinct at the greeting chuff was to just look around at who had made the sound. If he'd been alone, the painful, nervous ache would have kicked in a lot sooner - as it was, it took several heartbeats for his social anxiety to make an appearance, as his ears slid back in discomfort and he instinctively took a step behind Bella.
I can fish, he'd said back at the borders, chest puffed out and shaking head held high. He recognised the black wolf as one of the regular higher-ups around here, and nobody had treated him unfairly. He remembered the look of pride in his mother's eyes at his attempt to be brave. So he tried to remember he wanted to be different, pretend to be something fake and confident, at least to this pack. He couldn't let it fall back to how it used to be, how everyone had looked at him with expressions ranging from pity to disdain. Taking a deep breath, he inched back out a little, limbs quivering just slightly, fixing his eyes on @Miccahs chest so not to be disrespectful and look him in the eyes.
Why was his mother so good at just being casual and talking? The idea of chatting like that made his jaw want to seize up. It was so unfair. At least she was here, though, so he could just be a silent participant without it being too weird. Maybe he just needed to get some exposure to this sort of thing... maybe it would be good for him.
RE: you shouldn't speak ill of the dead - Miccah - Dec 23, 2015
[dohtml]
At her words, the man shook his head. Though her offer was kind, Miccah would feel odd taking her up on it. "Thank you Belladonna, but that will not be necessary." Though they were never properly acquainted until now, the man always made sure to at least know the names of his pack mates - new and old. His blue gaze then moved to the white yearling who before had been at her side but now seemed to be hiding behind the chocolate woman. Miccah's attentive gaze latched onto the boy for a moment, taking in a few key facts before turning back to Belladonna. It was clear the boy was not comfortable in social situations, and though Miccah's own social anxiety was not as extreme, he knew to not trouble the boy further by pulling him into the conversation. "Duckweed, correct?" he questioned Belladonna. He wondered what the boy's relationship was to the woman. Friend, younger brother? Miccah's gaze wondered then to the direction of the borders. From her earlier statement he was assuming they were heading to the borders as well, and it wouldn't kill him to converse some more with the nice woman. The stoic man looked at the two and opened his maw. "Feel free to join me on the borders." As the dark man began to head in the direction of the Woodland borders, he questioned Belladonna in his rumbling baritone. "Are you interested in any roles, Belladonna? Is Duckweed?" "speech" |
Burtn @DA & Dawnthieves.de - Table by PuppyThief |